Godammit, I’m Mad!

The Los Angeles County Museum of Art has acquired, in its wisdom, a 340 ton granite boulder that will form the centerpiece of Michael Heizer’s massive outdoor sculpture, “Levitated Mass.”

LACMA director Michael Govan points out that the huge rock is “only part of the sculpture,” which requires the construction of a subterranean slot upon which steel rails will support the rock, I mean the sculpture.

“The largest part of the sculpture is the negative space, the channel in the landscape,” he says. “It has its own independent sculptural presence. The marriage of these two forms comprises the sculpture.”

When was the last time you got to hear the term “negative space” used without facetiousness?

Anyway,  the logistics of moving this huge rock are a nightmare. A company that moves “extreme objects” has been hired to figure out how to do it.  Some utility lines, street lights and stop lights will have to be taken down by the local area’s utility companies as the boulder passes through crowded urban areas, and the route the rock will take can’t be confirmed until permits are cleared.

At a cost of somewhere between $5 and $10 million dollars, this is a coup for LACMA.  Michael Heizer, the artist, is best known for “Double Negative,” the 1,500-foot-long land sculpture he cut into a desert mesa in a remote section of southern Nevada.

Breathtaking, isn’t it? To quote Heizer: “There is nothing there, yet it is still a sculpture.” So true.

As we ponder the meaning of art, the suffering of Sisyphus, and the value of ten million dollars, let us not forget that people are idiots.

This is Dimitri Alexandrou.  Some of you prefer more rugged, masculine houseboys, so help yourself to the new candidates.

Here’s a hunk of tattooed burning love. Don’t know his name, don’t care. He’ll need to keep his hands off my earrings.

Sylvain Norget looks like he means business.  I can imagine him with a vacuum cleaner. I like it.

Daniel is a model and not really my type. But when I look into his eyes, I see him serving drinks and fluffing pillows.

What about this guy? Long hair to play with but enough manly pride to fold laundry with military precision.

Shah Rukh Khan is an Indian movie star ( I think) but I would like to see him lounging around after washing my hair.

I can’t resist a man in a dress. This may actually be my ideal houseboy. He doesn’t look judgemental: a plus!

Houseboy Sasha Marini is kind of sickening on the one hand, yet one might enjoy a scuffle with him as you try to get him to shave. I don’t know. Your call.

Now we’re talking. Francis Lane is the exact combination of youth and androgynous beauty that my house needs. I’d like to see him wearing embroidered satin slippers as he sweeps away the dog hair. I would even get him a feather duster!

Let me know if you found anything you like.

You know I can’t resist penis jewelry. Here are two new penis options from Vivienne Westwood.  I love the cufflinks but I wish they were earrings.  $151.51  Penis key-ring below,  $118.82

If you don’t crave penises, some other new VW pieces are elaborately pretty and clearly inspired by Salvador Dali’s jewelry.

Boulevard Pearly Queen Bracelet: $277.75   Boulevard Pearly Queen Brooch, below: $150.51

Available here.

Dali’s jewelry is exquisite and eye-popping.  If you’re not familiar with it, get ready to scream “Oooooooo!” and go here to get started.

Oh god, what a fucking travesty. I’ll try to break it down for you.

A large group of untalented people “sang” awful songs for an enthusiastic audience of vacuous industry types.

Lady Gaga pretended to be The Fonz and wouldn’t stop. She made you long for the meat dress. Britney Spears won an Achievement Award and thanked her little boys. Kanye and Jay-Z butchered an Otis Redding song by rapping over it, and Justin Bieber thanked both god AND Jesus.  Is Justin confused, or am I? Isn’t Jesus their Lord or what?

Adele offered a moment of true artistry and elegance. She was totally out of place.

Chris Brown danced around in a white suit and then flew around in one of those harness things. He was no Pink, let me tell you. At least he didn’t punch anyone in the face, or not during the show, to my knowledge.

Beyonce performed an uninspired pop song, her hair blowing in a wind machine, and revealed her pregnancy by patting her small tummy.

Katy Perry won an award that belonged to Adele.  Some guy called Something the Creator won an award, and a guy called Pitbull presented a mystery as to his ethnicity and popularity.

Russell Brand introduced a tribute to Amy Winehouse, striking a sour note by calling her an addict and an alcoholic. What a fucking cunt™. I can’t hate him enough. He made things worse by asserting pompously: “There IS a solution.” No, you cunt, there is no solution to addiction except to not start doing drugs in the first place.  Rest in peace my darling Amy, Max, and everyone else who could not be helped by 12 steps or 12,000 steps.

Tony Bennett was poignantly humble in his admiration for Amy’s genius. and played part of the video he made with her.

Bruno Mars horrified me by singing “Valerie,” but in the end he made me cry by singing directly to Amy. God bless him with his retro pompadour and his great horn section!

Lil’ Wayne came out and rapped about how angry he was. Every third word was bleeped out but one “Fucking” escaped in the last verse, in which I think he compared himself to John Lennon. He took his shirt off and ran around like a crazed monkey. I’m sure he’s a very nice person in real life.

That’s all I remember. Let me know if I missed anything important.

“Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics.

You are all stardust.

You couldn’t be here if stars hadn’t exploded. Because the elements, the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution weren’t created at the beginning of time. They were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars. And the only way they could get into your body is if the stars were kind enough to explode.

So forget Jesus. The stars died so you could be here today.”

- Lawrence Krauss

Today we went to the Museum of Contemporary Art to see an exhibit of graffiti and street art. Little did I know it was The Place to Be, with a long line of hipsters waiting to get inside the museum.  My husband and I thought “Fuck this” and decided to leave , just as we saw my adopted son Chris and his girlfriend Ada walking toward us.

It was wonderful to realize that we crypto-hipsters all gravitate to the same places. Ada became a museum member to help us avoid the long line for non-members.  The guy who helped her had 14 piercings in his face.

The exhibit was crawling with people who could each qualify as a piece of graffiti art. The was no air inside, where the temperature hovered near boiling point. Everyone was madly taking pictures of the art and each other. You had to dodge the iPhone flashes as you tried to avoid screwing up someone’s photo op.

I complained to my husband in a non-stop whine, but he’s learned to live with this. I objected aloud to a wall of Shepard Fairy crap, noting “Shepard Fairey is a fucking punk!” and thereby quoting my own self. I loved the cars and some black and white photos of Chicano homies. But most of it seemed boring and outdated, like break-dancing only less dimensional. Shuffling along the narrow passages between makeshift rooms, I felt like a character in “Hi, Mom.”

I wondered what would happen if someone broke out a can of spray pain and graffiti’d the graffiti.

Out in the street, an even longer line of hipters stood sweltering. I said to my husband: Haha, look at them. We walked to a Yogurtland, where a pretty girl sitting next to me blabbed about her reality show and insisted to her morbidly obese friend that what she really wanted to do was “make art.”

Godwin’s law (also known as Godwin’s Rule of Nazi Analogies or Godwin’s Law of Nazi Analogies) is a humorous observation made by Mike Godwin in 1990 that has become an Internet adage. It states: “As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches  100% .” In other words, Godwin put forth the hyperbolic observation that, given enough time, in any online discussion—regardless of topic or scope—someone inevitably criticizes some point made in the discussion by comparing it to beliefs held by Hitler and the Nazis. –  Wikipedia

~

I love this. This is the type of discovery that brings joy to my heart.

The definition continues:

Godwin’s law is often cited in online discussions as a deterrent against the use of arguments in the widespread Reductio ad Hitlerum form.  - Wikipedia

“Reductio ad Hitlerum” ?!?!

I fucking love language.  In fact, I made up a good word the other day:  Whateverism.  It’s the modern malaise, basically, and I’m against it.  Please feel free to bandy this word about, if you’re not comfortable with Reductio ad Hitlerum.

I don’t know where you live, but Los Angeles is hot and sweaty in August. I need a Houseboy to fan me while I sip a cold drink. Jo Dong Hyuk looks like a highly accomplished Houseboy, don’t you think?

But look at Greg Kheel.

Greg seems like a versatile Houseboy who wouldn’t mind dressing up if the situation demands. In fact, I would be happy to let him raid my closet when he’s done with his chores.

Finally, there’s Renato Ferreira.

He’s young, sure, but I think he would bring a spirituality to his tasks. He can even wear the necklace if it doesn’t get in the way.

See anything you like?

*If you know of any worthy houseboys of this caliber, feel free to submit pictures to sisterwolf666@gmail.com and I can include them with the next batch.

An article in the New York Times offers an affectionate tribute to Amy Winhouse’s style, giving her credit for creating a unique look based on several Bad-Girl templates.

The article reminded me of how many girls still try to imitate Bettie Page. There are millions of clones out there with dyed black bangs and deep red lipstick, all going for the same trampy  rockabilly look. With all due respect, it’s a look I’m really sick of.  I think it should be saved for Halloween or costume parties.

The article also led me to the work of Karlheinz Weinberger, a Swiss photographer whose pictures of sleazy hooligans and teenage delinquents made him famous among artists and intelligentsia. Looking at his work, I finally undertand the aesthetic that Gnarlitude Jen and her ilk are so infatuated with.

Biker paraphernalia, big messy hair, tough sullen expressions, it’s all there in Weinberger’s old photos. It’s a look that I personally affected when I was around twelve years old, trying to copy the tough Mexican gang girls who represented rebellion. By fourteen, though, I was over it.

Today, the only way to be a style rebel would be to dress inconspicuously.

Still, I’m happy to remember Amy as an original force in style as well as music. Her mixture of  50s and 60s influences, punk, pin-up, tough, girlie, retro and rapper, added up to something fresh, defiant and irresistible.

God bless her, and all bad girls everywhere.

Remember The Nose War?

Well, now it’s a fork.

There’s a fork on the bookcase by the front door, and it’s been there for at least a week. Maybe two weeks. My teenager asked me about it, without implying that he might be willing to take it back to the kitchen. I told him that I didn’t know what it was doing on the bookcase, but I wasn’t going to move it, either. He understood.

Now it has taken the place of The Nose. My husband has obviously seen the fork, since nothing escapes his eagle eye (especially things that are kitchen-related.)

We’ll see what happens.

Do any of you play these childish games with your partner? If not, you’re really missing out on the true essence of marriage.